


Longing

by Anonymous



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Incest, Uncle/Niece Incest, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27490444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Della had missed so many things, and this by far the most.
Relationships: Della Duck/Scrooge McDuck
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16
Collections: Anonymous





	Longing

There were many things Della had missed dearly during her time on the moon.

Her favourite foods, to start - pancakes were never missed more, and often she had craved them to a borderline painful degree. Then there was the ache that came to her chest when she thought of movie nights with Donald as children (and still ever so occasionally as adults), curled up under a blanket with a pizza or popcorn as they watched any old garbage with the volume turned down *just so* as to not bother Uncle Scrooge. Sometimes, he even joined them.

Then there were sunsets. The moon had phases, sure, but nothing in the way it waxed or sometimes seemed to *glow* had anything on the swaths of purple and pink and marigold that used to line the sky in the evening like painterly strokes on a canvas.

And, of course, she had missed her opportunity to be a mother. She had missed the boys hatching, and though Donald had kindly recorded it for her, it wasn't the same. It could never be the same. And there was absolutely nothing she could do to change that, or to fight against the heavy and oppressive weight that settled on her chest and heart when she thought about all that she had missed.

Most of all, she had missed her uncle.

She gasped as he pushed into her again, heavy and slow, beak making a slow trail up her body as he lovingly nipped at her collar. Her arms came to loop around his neck, and their eyes met, the mix of lust and love driving the both of them crazy. His eyes were a gorgeous shade of teal, a family gene that she mourned not inheriting, and her own slate blue filled with tears of desperation as he slowed his movement ever so slowly, ever so teasingly, but only for a moment before resuming his original pace, chuckling as she whined needily and her grip tightened.

Their mouths met, sharing breath for a moment as she moaned quietly, digging her nails into his back, nearly tearing out some feathers as she held onto him tightly, grinding up into him, breath hitching every time he withdrew and then pushed back in. 

It was amazing. _Fuck_ , it was incredible. She had longed so forlornly for his touch for that decade, having no companion but her own fingers for so long, fucking herself in the quiet of her broken ship at night as she whined his name, trying to imagine his heat next to her or under her or over her, straining to remember every unique inflection and mannerism of his voice and depth of his moans, lusting helplessly in the great expanse of space with no way to get his touch. Perhaps she was disgusting, but no one had ever managed to make her feel the way he had.

When she had met the moonlanders she had been desperate enough to court a few purely to have sex with them, and their odd genetalia had kept her momentarily satisfied, but it could never be the same. Some were bigger, some were rougher, some lasted longer, but she never stopped pining.

The first night Scrooge had taken her to bed had been her 21st birthday. She had been blackout drunk, miserable from being dropped by her boyfriend of 3 years, and Scrooge had found her rutting into her own hand, emotional but also utterly horny. As desperate for companionship as she had been, she'd taken advantage of his shocked-still state to press them together. After only a moment of resistance he'd fell into her rhythm - seems like he'd needed it too. 

It became a habit; a routine. And then she became pregnant with the triplets, and panicked, and perhaps that may have been part of the reason she had chosen to get on that spaceship despite knowing all of the countless risks.

But now she was back, with _him_ , with these feelings in her chest that she knew were wrong but couldn't quash no matter what she did, staring into the deep teal of his eyes as his cheeks flushed and her hands trailed to play with his whiskers, hearing his familiar voice as he gasped out her name desperately. When he had opened the manor door and met her eyes for the first time after so long, all she had wanted to do was press him back against the wall and let him take her.

Was this love? It felt dirty and wrong, and yet so _real_ and heady, hands intertwining as he finally shuddered and released deep inside of her, once again bereft of a condom. The thrill of the risk was familiar, comforting. It made it feel all the more real, all the more raw, so much more tangible.

She feared the children hearing them, as loud as they were, and managed to cover her own voice in time for her to crash over the edge, shaking as her vision whited out, crying out his voice into her hand before she felt him collapse on top of her, sweaty and exhausted and _there_ and _real._

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated


End file.
